SeaonFourAlternateEnding
by sparkles436
Summary: Contains Season 4 spoilers. Please do not read if you do not want to be spoiled by the ending of season 4 of Veronica Mars. This story covers the missing year between the explosion of the last 10 minutes of episode 8 and Veronica driving off on another case.


No! That didn't just happen. The bomb was at the high school and we stopped it. This is just some horrific nightmare I can't wake up from. I did not just lose him. After so many years of hiding from myself and everyone else how important he was to me, after so many years of running from him and us, I didn't just lose him on the day I finally embraced us and what we were to each other. I didn't lose him. I can't lose him. Not him. Not Logan. . . Not today. Please . . . Not Logan.

Yet even as I lay back on the bed where the force of the blast had thrown me, bleeding from various cuts and scrapes where the shattered glass had hit me, I knew I was only fooling myself. There was no way he could've survived the force of that explosion. I had seen him getting in the car a minute before. I had realised a minute too later hat other message the limerick had. I was a minute to late to save him. And now, I have lost him.

I lay there for another beat, before slowly rising off the bed and not even noticing the aches suddenly attached to my body, I make my way through the room to the front door. Taking one last steadying breath, I open it and step outside to a world choking with smoke and acrid smells. Even knowing what has happened, I begin rushing down the steps, even as I hear the sirens approaching.

Someone's called the police. Someone called for an ambulance.

Not that it will matter. There's no way, anyone near that explosion survived. Still I can't help but call out for him as I approach the base of the steps.

"Logan! Logan!"

There is nothing but twisted metal left of the car. The roof had flipped over on itself and now covered the front windshield from the force of the bomb in the backseat. There is nothing left to see of its interior, except blackened shapes, thick smoke and flames. The heat is so powerful I can't even get to close to it.

"Logan" I choke out, sobbing as the tears stream down my face. As I slowly start to back away, I hear a slight moan off to my left. Not even daring to hope or consider the possibility of him surviving I turn towards the sound. Even though I knew it wouldn't be him, I still feel the disappointment crashing down around me when I recognise our neighbour Mrs Marshall. She's barely conscious and moaning as she lays on the ground. Numbly I start to move towards her, but as I clear the car, I suddenly notice another form curled up on the ground just to the side of her. I recognise the navy blue suit Logan had worn at the wedding, that he still hadn't changed out of, at the same time as I take in the fact that this figure isn't moving or making a sound. Without conscious thought I start running, falling to my knees as I reach him, Mrs Marshall laying forgotten to my side. I have no thought left for her. My entire focus is on him, my husband, my Logan.

He is turned away from me as I reach him, so the first thing I do is roll him back towards me so I can see his face. Even as I'm doing it, I am berating myself - he could have spinal injuries Veronica! You shouldn't be moving him! I forget that though as I take my first look at his face since the bombing. He is pale, with his eyes closed and small trickles of blood falling from his ears, nose and mouth, with a larger trail flowing down his forehead. Wordlessly I gather some of my skirt in my hands and hold it against the gash just below his hairline, while still searching his face and body for any sign of movement. I hear the footsteps of emergency services behind me just as I catch a brief rise of his chest.

He's breathing!

I feel my body unclench the muscles it didn't realise it had been tensing as a paramedic asks me to move out of the way while his partner starts her assessment of Logan. I numbly fall back, and half crawling - half pulling myself out of their way.

"He's bleeding" I say. "From his head, he's bleeding."

The paramedic who asked me to move has begun to also work on Logan, but spares a brief glance over his shoulder at me.

"Ma'am, are you okay? Where you present at the explosion?"

Ma'am? I think. How goddamn old do I look?

"No, I was upstairs. I was going to have a shower. Logan came to move the car. He must have got the alert for the street cleaner. He was here. I was still upstairs."

I realise I am rambling, but it doesn't matter, because he is no longer listening to me. As soon as he confirmed I wasn't here, his attention returned to Logan. I turn my head and take note that a second team has begun working on Mrs Marshall, while fire fighters are putting out the now smouldering car and police cordon off the scene.

"We have to move him now. He's barely hanging on" I hear the woman paramedic say to her partner.

"Let's get him in the back of the rig."

With a quick nod, her partner goes to get the stretcher from the back of the ambulance. Meanwhile, an irrational panic was taking hold of me.

"You're taking him now? What's wrong with him? Why hasn't he woken up?"

"Who are you?" She asks as she continues to work on him.

"I'm his wife."

She briefly gives me a sympathetic look. Then she continues to work on him while she talks to me.

"Look, I'll. Be frank. Your husband's hurt pretty bad. He's taken some shrapnel to the back and side and seems to have taken a powerful blow to the head, most likely when he was knocked to the ground by the blast. His responses are weak and sluggish and he needs a lot more help than we can give him here. With your permission we want to take him to Neptune Hospital and get him his best chance."

I nod my head at her, trying not to let her words send me into a panic.

Get it together girl. He needs you to be the tough Veronica he's always known you to be. If you're both getting through this, then you need to toughen up!

After a minute, I realise she's still talking to me.

"What?"

"What's his name?" She repeats.

"Logan. Logan Echols."

"Does he have any allergies? Any medicines he can't take?"

"No. Nothing like that."

She continues to ask questions about Logan's history and details as her partner returns and then they begin moving him onto the back of the stretcher. Quietly I follow behind them as they begin to load him in.

The female turns to me after he's loaded. "I'm sorry. We can't fit you in. We're going to have to have space to work on him during the ride to the hospital. The police can give you a ride there as soon as you're ready." She waves an officer over as she jumps into the back of the rig and her partner shuts the doors before moving around to the front of the ambulance. I stand, staring at the back doors, where a second ago, I had seen Logan's face laying pale and motionless against the cotton of the stretcher bed. A moment later and the ambulance's engine starts, and it begins its journey out of the alley, moving at a steady, measured pace despite the flashing lights and siren blaring.

A hand comes down on my shoulder and I recognise one of the new police officers to the department, though I don't know his name.

"Miss Mars, we'll need to get a statement from you. Would you like to do it here, or would you prefer to give it at the hospital where you can be informed of Mr Echols condition when it's known?"

"The hospital" I answer him, as I realise I may not know his name but he knows mine, and Logans.

Logan. Please let him make it. Please. I am unsure who I am even directing this to. At this point I don't care. I just need him to make it.

Without another word, he leads me to his cruiser and sits me in the back. After briefly turning to talk to another officer, he gets in the drivers seat, starts the car and pulls out of the alley, beginning the journey that will bring us to the hospital, and Logan. Just as I always seem to do when life separates us, I am again moving closer to Logan. And this time, I won't let go.


End file.
